


the Prince, the Lord, and the Farmer

by honeys (zombles)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Forced Feminization, M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Violence, king!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombles/pseuds/honeys
Summary: A son of a well-off farmer, Gavin was to be wedded to Jeremy Dooley, the child and heir to his father's inheritance as the highest ranking lord in the kingdom. After a dispute with the king, Jeremy is left with the question—declare loyalty to the crown and live in wealth, or marry a peasant boy he fell in love with over waxed letters?





	the Prince, the Lord, and the Farmer

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to a weird fanfic i read four years ago for a ship i didn't even like, but the concept seemed interesting to apply to AH in an medieval era universe. enjoy. 
> 
> side note: the lads are around twenty years old.

“Mum, _fuck_ , that hurts—“

“Gavin, watch your language.”

“Sorry,” Gavin said in a softer tone.

Deft fingers wove the ribbons in and out of the bindings, tightening them until the breath from his lungs was stolen. 

“I don’t understand why I have to do this,” Gavin persisted, wincing as his mother tightened them extra hard for speaking out of turn. Nevertheless, he continued, “I’m already small enough. My waist is fine.”

“Not small enough,” his mother sighed, tying a plain bow once she had gotten to the bottom of the corset like binding. His body was already beginning to hurt, and this wasn’t even the first time that he had worn this. It had been months.

“Your husband shall want the smallest size we can get you to be Gavin. Dearest, understand I am only doing this to make you more appealing to your betrothed. And more importantly, your betrothed is a lord.”

“I know.” Gavin mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Do not give me attitude. He will expect the best. Your father is not going to give you away to him and be embarrassed that you are of average attractiveness. We shall only give the lord our best, and wearing the bindings means there is an increased chance he will not disapprove.”

Just to make her point, his mother undid the bow, and tightened the loose straps as hard as she could to the point Gavin could feel tears brim his eyes.

“I do not want to hear anymore complaining, do you hear me? Or I will tell you father.”

“Yes, mum.”

Finishing off the corset once more, his mother rounded him and thumbed the tears from Gavin’s cheeks that had begun to fall. Kissing his forehead, she wished him goodnight and shut the door to his bedroom behind him.

Once his mother was gone, Gavin grabbed onto the cold wooden dresser nearest to him. The binding took so much energy out of him, and unfortunately, it was hard to sleep in but it was what required of him. Something his mother told him of his body and bones growing to fit the mold so he’d have the perfect curved waist for his husband. Some bullshit like that.

Not to mention that Gavin was to marry a lord.

He didn’t even know his name.

“ _Dooley_ ,” his mother had told him one day, months ago, “his last name is Dooley. A high class lord. His father works under His Majesty the King. This is the highest respect, Gavin. Why the Dooleys are interested in us, I do not know. You ought to be a good wife for him. Do not ruin this. Our honor and lives are at stake. If this does not work out, we cannot live here anymore.”

It was only so much to go on, and plenty of pressure.

Gavin had only heard whispers of the lords and ladies above him. Gavin’s family was one of simple origins; his father and brother maintained a large farm with the help of  local farmhands. The Dooley household was nobility, the highest in the land, with the chance of the Crown falling into their hands if one of children of the house were to marry into the royal House of Jones.

Instead, Gavin were to marry their eldest son in the upcoming summer.

And, tomorrow was to take a step in the direction of furthering their relationship.

Thinking about it and the constricting grip of the corset, Gavin sighed and lowered himself onto the bed. He blew out the candle and tucked himself under the covers.

 

\--

 

Gavin did not dream that night.

The sun was already on the horizon as Gavin woke up. 

It bled through the curtains into his room, and despite his soreness, Gavin got out of bed to avoid the angry yelling his mother ought to do if he wasn’t up soon. Trying to rub the soreness out through his the restricting bindings, Gavin stepped out of his room and into the kitchen where his mother was preparing lunch for when his brother and father returned from the fields. The empty plates on the sink made it apparent that his brother and father had already eaten breakfast. They were already out in the fields working.

“Good morning, mum, sorry I woke up late,” Gavin greeted softly. She turned to face him smiling and gestured for Gavin to turn around.

In a second, Gavin did. Her fingers pulled apart the bow she had tied last night, and unthreaded the bindings. Every time she did, Gavin could feel the tension leave his body and leave him feeling exhausted. Taking it off, she handed the corset back to Gavin.

Every night he’d wear it. Up to his wedding day.

Gavin took the binding and walked away back to his bedroom. Closing the door behind him, Gavin disposed off the corset off to the side and made his bed before moving over to his foggy mirror. A hand-me-down from his brother.

In the mirror, Gavin couldn’t tell if his waist was getting smaller, or he was beginning to curve, but his mother seemed to be happy with the progress. All Gavin could see was bruises that it left, even apparent in the aged glass.

Running his fingers over the marks, Gavin frowned. Some of them were from several days ago and every single night, new marks seemed to be placed on his body while he slept. Gavin was waiting for the day that there wouldn’t be any left. It would be horrible to fall into bed with his lover only to have preexisting marks. 

Turning away from the mirror, Gavin set off to do his chores, to distract himself from the ache of his own body. They were simple: make the bed, help his mother prepare lunch and the beginnings of dinner, clean the windows, and bring in the firewood. It was noon by the time he had finished them all.

Coming back inside from wringing out a cloth he had used to clean the windows, his mother moved in close the moment he stepped through the threshold and gently removed the damp cloth from his hands.

“Ten gold coins,” she said, gesturing for Gavin to hold out his hands. He did. Producing a bag from her pocket, his mother held it up for a moment as she smiled, “I want you to buy the best parchment, sealing wax, and ink you can find. Go. Be back home before your brother and father.”

Feeling the coin purse in his hands when she set it down, Gavin rubbed his thumbs against the velvety texture. It’s softness was surprising. Caught up in feeling the bag almost dumbly, his mother was gently nudging him towards the door.

“Do not forget a coat.”

Reaching for his coat on the hook, Gavin buttoned it up, holding the coin purse by its drawstrings, clutched in between his teeth. Once his coat was buttoned properly and all the way down, his mother eyed him once more before pressing that he should leave. Gavin nodded and breathed, thankful that his bindings weren’t on him this time as he pocketed the coin purse and prepared for the trek.

The village was a mile away. The walk was not too far, and it was worth to see almost endless rows and rows of booths. The market always smelled sweet, too, of fruits and glazed meats in elegant sauces that were far too expensive for Gavin’s measly ten gold coins, to the leather of saddles and fire and oil used in blacksmithing. Gavin found it all very interesting, and wonderful.

If only he had been born with broader shoulders, or less of an appearance commonly associated with femininity, Gavin could have spared himself from the life of a housewife and perhaps delve into some other trade.

Shaking his head to himself, Gavin focused himself on the task at hand. He milled about the booths, tempted to spend his money on frivolous things such as sweets like the mouth-watering sight of poached pears and caramel created with love and skill. His mother would surely give him a beating, however, even if he dared to consume one on the way home and Gavin refrained from such temptations.

Once Gavin had gotten to a booth on the end of the second row, he stopped. It was decorated with ribbons, happy colors that glistened as the wind gently blew them about. Behind the table was an old woman, face worn and grey hair tied back into the a messy bun. She flashed Gavin a tired smile as he approached the booth, yet Gavin avoided eye contact with her as he studied the inks and bundle of parchment on the table instead.

Fingers brushed over the paper. They were beautiful things, feathery and light. It felt almost like touching a cloud. Gavin had never touched such a thing as delicate as the paper before him. The coin purse in his pocket suddenly felt heavy. He didn’t want his mother to scold him for picking an ugly parchment.

One parchment that caught his eyes was one that was the color of honey. A little rough and choppy around the edges that gave it character, it had little flecks of red and brown to the brilliance of glistening honey. 

“How much for this one?”

The woman smiled softly, shifting from foot to foot as she got more comfy.

“Three gold coins.”

Gavin nodded, chewing on his bottom lip as he looked at the inks. Three gold coins for parchment wasn’t a horrible price as far as Gavin could tell. It was better than silver or bronze coins. Opening up the coin purse, Gavin handed her three coins as he gathered up the bundle of parchment and pointed to one of the dark, void of black ink that seemed to suck up all of the light.

“Two gold coins.”

Nodding again, Gavin passed over the two gold coins and added the ink to his pile of parchment.

As he reached to hand the woman over the coins she had asked of him, he felt a hand enclose around his wrist, and jerk him towards the booth. Gavin let out a small squeak, yet the old woman was quick to silence him with a harsh glance.

“One more gold coin, lad, and I’ll give you a satchel to carry your findings.” 

In a moment of hesitance, Gavin stuttered and nodded, scared of being this close to some lady whom he had just met. Handing over the coin, her hand let up and she separated herself from Gavin. Reaching behind the booth, she produced a worn down bag and Gavin deposited all of his findings into the bag.

“Watch it, little farmer boy. Be on your toes. Do not be so comfortable in this world. Everyone is not as pure as you dream they were,” the woman said, leaning over the booth as she handed over to the bag.

With wide eyes and shuffling back away from the booth, Gavin warily eyed the woman as she smiled cheerfully at him as if nothing had happened. As if no words had transpired. Gavin pulled the bag over his shoulder and scrambled away,  earning a few curious glances from women in the market around him.

Finding another booth down the line with rows and rows of sealing wax in an array of colors, Gavin picked a sparkling green color, dotted with gold flecks. It was amazing. It costed exactly four gold coins, and Gavin thanked the heavens that he at least had some money to bring back to his mother. Bagging all of his findings, Gavin began to head home, excitement coursing through his veins at the fact that he would finally be able to write a letter to his future husband, and promptly forgot about the ominous words that the old lady had spoken. 

The walk home was quick, but dinner took ages to pass.

And when it did, Gavin rushed to clean off the dining table with his mother and took everything out of his new, yet old, worn down satchel. The parchment had the same elegance that it had had earlier, and ink sloshed around in its beautiful clear bottle now tainted black.

“I shall be there in a few minutes or so, Gavin, set everything you bought up,” his mother spoke from the kitchen.

Placing the sealing wax off to the side, Gavin then untied the bundle of parchment carefully. Grabbing a single sheet, he placed it down in front of him and uncapped the bottle of ink. Folding his hands into his lap, he waited until his mother finished cleaning the plates to come over to him. 

In a couple of minutes, his mother came over.

“One moment, Gavin,” she said softly. Moving to a small chest in the corner of the room, his mother rummaged through it for a few moments before walking over to Gavin. In a small bag, like the coin purse he had been given earlier, she pulled out an object that resembled a handle. 

“What is that?” Gavin inquired softly.

Sitting down at the table, she pulled the candle close for its light and tilted the object to reveal a smooth end, engravings etched into it. A stamp. Gavin hadn’t seen one before, but he had seen the seal left on several letters that his parents received over the years. 

“It’s our coat of arms.” 

Lips formed into a small ‘o’, Gavin reached for it the moment his mother held it out to him. Gavin turned it over in his hands, fingertips brushing against the etching on it. It looked old, worn down, yet elegant.

“ _Jeremy_.”

Blinking, Gavin looked up at his mother as she smiled, his attention completely stolen away from the object that he held in his hands.

“Jeremy,” she repeated, pointing down to the letter, “that your future husband’s name. You ought to address him by that in the letter. Now, when you’re finished, fold it up and drip the wax onto the letter. Press the stamp into the wax and leave it there for a few moments.” 

Reaching back into the bag, his mother removed a small leather slip. Sliding a quill out of it, she placed it besides the parchment and offered a warm smile to Gavin.

“Tell him about yourself. Ask him how he’s doing. Your lord is your number one priority, Gavin, your world revolves around him. Show him that you are interested in letting him know your life, and your interest in his. He will be your husband, and you, his wife,” his mother stood up. She leant over, pressing a small kiss to the top of his head and affectionately ruffled his hair. “When you’re finished, come and fetch me. We still need to put your bindings on.”

As soon as his mother stepped away, Gavin stepped into his own bubble of concentration. He placed the quill into the small pool of black ink, tilting the page to the side so it would be easier to write in his most elegant cursive that he could muster. Pulling the quill from the bottle, he tapped it against the rim to knock off any excess.

 

> _“Dear Jeremy Dooley,_
> 
>  
> 
> _Hello. My name is Gavin Free, and I am betrothed to you. I suppose you know this by now, but I do not know if your mother constantly berates you for it like mine bloody does._
> 
>  
> 
> _Anyways, I do not know what to write. I hardly know you. I know nothing about you besides rumors that run wild around the village. I know your family is of such a high status, and sometimes I wonder what it feels like to grow up directly under the king and his family. I heard the king has three sons. His youngest son is close to our age, as well. I do not remember his name. No one talks about him much._
> 
>  
> 
> _Nevertheless, I am honored that you have chosen me to be wed…”_

 

Time passed quickly as Gavin wrote. It felt like minutes, but instead by the time he had finished, he could barely read what he had written due to the dim candle light and the lack of light outside the windows. Praying to the gods for a moment that he had not misspelled anything during his sudden muse, Gavin blew on the letter and waited until the ink had properly dried.

Folding up the letter carefully, Gavin creased it and stuck the sealing wax over the fire of the candle. Catching the wick on fire, Gavin held it over the letter and watched it drip the wax down very slowly. Once enough had gotten there in a blob, Gavin blew out the wick and placed it into a small plate. Taking the stamp, he pressed it down onto the wax and held it there and counted to twenty. 

Very slowly, he pulled the stamp from the wax, admiring the coat of arms that was left there. Cleaning everything up around the letter that sat on the dining table, Gavin eventually came back to it and gently ran his fingers over the wax. He hoped that this Jeremy Dooley would be able to feel the love and caring that had gone into the letter, the time and effort and money he had poured out. He hardly knew the man, but Gavin knew it was worth the shot to get to know him. To fall in love. To be the best wife he could be.

Clutching the letter to his chest, Gavin ran off to go tell his mother that he had finished.

 

\--

 

Despite it being maybe the third or fourth time that Jeremy had visited the castle, the stone walls and the way the heels of his boots clicked against the cold, dark stone flooring always left an eerie feeling in its wake at how far the noise dared to echo through the great halls.

With his father besides him, and the clinking of his sword against his hip as they walked, it added the noises as his father angrily rushed to the throne room. Knights were on their heels, seeking to restraint his father from storming the throne room. They weren’t after Jeremy, but the man. They wouldn’t stop him. Jeremy wasn’t a threat. Yet.

Slamming open the doors as the guards grabbed his arms, his father roared in anger, hand twitching to grab the sword on his hip. One of the knights lunged for Jeremy, and he knew not to thrash against their hold, falling limp into one of the knight’s grasp as he swore under his breath. His eyes turned towards the front of the throne room, the King sitting in his throne and watching the scene take place with an amused expression.

The King stood from his throne, the crown glimmering upon his brow, separating his hands to clap as the knights brought forth Jeremy’s father and finally, Jeremy himself.

Being close enough, Jeremy could see another figure on one of the further thrones off to the side. A young man, about his age. He had wild brown, almost red, curls on his head and dark brown eyes that stared at Jeremy. In a moment their eyes locked, and Jeremy realized that he was staring into the eyes of the King’s youngest son. The reason why his father had come here.

“My son is betrothed to a farmer. A man who will be Jeremy’s wife come the summer solstice,” his father spoke.

“Lord Dooley,” the King addressed, “I trust you with my life. The union of Michael,” as he spoke the King gestured to his son, “and Jeremy would be wise. Think of the money and the riches. The land and the power that your son would gain when Michael one day rises to become king.”

“Excuse me, _sire_ , but Prince Michael is third in line for the throne, and Jeremy is not becoming consort to the king. He is not becoming a wife. I raised my child to become a husband, provide for his family, not be the household _bitch_ ,” his father snarled.

As his father argued, Jeremy’s eyes didn’t stray from Michael. The Prince was well dressed, and seemed to be blushing just a tad, if his eyes didn’t deceive him. This scene that his father was creating was out of line. Perhaps it was second hand embarrassment bestowing itself on Michael. In a moment, Jeremy realized he had been staring. And perhaps that was the source of Michael’s flush. Now blushing himself, Jeremy averted his eyes out of the respect for the prince and casted them to the argument.

Sighing, the King shook his head.

“Dooley, I beg you to reconsider. Michael will be a noble king. Jeremy would be given title of queen, but that simply means nothing. He will have power, use, but words are merely words, and truly, you shall be able to consider that Jeremy will still be Michael’s husband.”

In disagreement, his father huffed. “My son is _not_ going to be queen. He is going to be married in the summer. I do not understand, sire, why you are so _fucking_ persistent. Jeremy will _not_ be a wife.”

The King shrugged his shoulders, glancing over at Michael and then back to Jeremy. He turned to the knight closest to him, who stood next to the platform. Jeremy stared at him, finding him odd for such a close knight to the King’s side—tired eyes and messy black hair, although his eyes shone a bright blue, almost like ice. Cleverness and intelligence flashed through them. 

The King sighed, scratching his beard and nodded to the knight.

“Kill him. Spare the younger. Send the head back to his family. I do believe that his son will not make the same mistake. Do you not agree, Geoff? Michael?”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Agreed, father.”


End file.
